Musings, Special

My Nights, His Sleep

See Also: To Her Ravaging Memoirs

It’s three in the morning. I stare at the ceiling, gazing at the dark nothingness, perfectly awake. Sleep had not bothered to knock on my doorstep, or rather, it was kept at bay by nothing significant.

If only I could believe what I just said.

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Read more at: The Best Of Halfway To Asphodel: 2015-2017!

 

 

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Musings

Who Art Thou?

The cool breeze ruffled our hair. The fading sunlight fell onto our faces, more like gentle rays than a harsh beams. Looking up, you could see fiery orange between the dark greens of the canopy of the branches. We sat on the park bench, with our arms occasionally brushing against each other. The setting sun signified the end of our time together, and she decided to ask a question whose answer is more varied, elusive, and invisible than time.

“What sort of a person are you?”

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Read more at: The Best Of Halfway To Asphodel: 2015-2017!